


Rudbeckias and Violets

by roraruu



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Angst, Bonding, Drama & Romance, F/M, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Meddling, One Shot Collection, Post-Timeskip | War Phase (Fire Emblem: Three Houses), Pre-Timeskip | Academy Phase (Fire Emblem: Three Houses)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-21
Updated: 2021-02-07
Packaged: 2021-03-13 08:13:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 12,717
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28900212
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/roraruu/pseuds/roraruu
Summary: A collection of drabbles and oneshots of Raphael and Bernadetta slowly falling in love. Non-linear, set across various paths and various times.
Relationships: Raphael Kirsten/Bernadetta von Varley
Comments: 11
Kudos: 15





	1. Blanket

**Author's Note:**

> i give each ship i love one flower—raphadetta’s is rudbeckia which symbolize encouragement, motivation and justice. Rudbeckias are like the sunflower’s silly cousin, which idk, reminds me of raph. Violets remind me of bernie which also symbolize true, everlasting love, innocence and modesty.
> 
> This one is for Del for rambling about these two with me!
> 
> I’m @aroraboringalis on twitter.

Raphael is too big for many things. There’s simply just too much of the fellow and too little of everything else. His elbows hang off his desk space in the same way that his feet stick out from the edge of his bed. His clothes are too small; as they’ve always been hand-me-downs from a distant cousin or a charitable neighbour. 

His school uniform is no different, the buttons in his shirt almost busting open, and the uniform jacket refusing to even go past his thick wrist. 

Everything for Raphael is just a little too... well, small. 

And Bernadetta is the one to most keenly note it. In class—he swapped over to the Black Eagles class after the professor commented on his axe skills being something to behold—he might doze off every now and then. But from Bernadetta’s seat at the opposite side of the class, right at the back where she can enter last and run in first, she can see every droop of his head into his hand, every deep sigh that makes his shoulders shake and the eventual rest of his head into his muscly forearms as he takes an afternoon nap. 

And most often, she sees him shiver in his sleep. Little trembles and quakes before jolting awake beside Caspar. Their bench is furthest from the house fire, making them the most exposed to the chill of the classroom. Once, he had snored a little loud, prompting the professor to ask if he needed an afternoon tea to wake up. 

(To which, of course, Raphael asked if there would be some snacks too.)

And ever since then, when Bernadetta has had cause to write to her mother, which are usually pleas for more paint supplies or minor things, she asked for fabric. 

_What cause do you need fabric for, my dear?_ Her mother had wrote. 

_A blanket, Mother. The monastery is incredibly cold._ She replied. Which, wasn’t truly a lie. But it wasn’t falsely a truth either. Indeed she was making a blanket but she had never said it was for her. 

When the fabric arrived—a pretty goldenrod yellow with a thick lining—she spread out the long roll across her dormitory floor. She thought that it would be enough, but on second glance, and remembering how wide Raphael’s shoulders were, she doubled over and rolled more out. And then a little more. And a smidge more. 

_He should have something that’s too big for him. At least for once in his life_.  She thinks as she reached for the shears on her desk. Guiding them through the soft fabric with careful strokes, Bernadetta touched the fabric. It was sturdy, probably good enough to embroider a design upon the corners. But that would take a while. 

Yet, what did she have to do? All her term papers were done, there was only physical exams left and she’d rather avoid the training grounds at the peak hours. All that was left for her was to sit and twiddle her thumbs until exam day arrived... and wonder where she would go next after the monastery. It might be to a home in Enbarr to hide, or somewhere in the countryside, in the Hevring territories. Or worse, it could be home. 

To keep her thoughts from roaming there, Bernadetta thought about the pattern. In the days that passed, she began to sketch designs of what it could be. Diamonds, patches of other fabrics, delicate lattice or the like. She took to her sketchbook and settled on one thing she’d seen Raphael like more than meat and training: rudbeckias. 

They’d been cultivated down in the greenhouse. One afternoon, they had been in the hothouse at the same time, and Bernadetta, who was looking after some delicate sweet violets that Ashe had planted, noticed how Raphael smiled and spoke to the little flowers so carefully. She saw him cut some off and grasp them in his large hand before waving to her and walking off. 

So she decided to embroider some pretty little rudbeckias in the four corners of the blanket since he liked them so. When the edges had been sewn in, she selected a spool of gold thread—which she had gotten down at the marketplace with Dorothea—and began to make the four little flowers. 

With passing day, and the end of the year approaching sooner and sooner, Bernadetta spent most of her free time perfecting the blanket. And when she finished it, she strew the blanket up on her highest shelf, where it pooled on the floor. She pulled it off the shelf, wrapped herself in it and shuffled around her room. 

Before she knew it, a smile came across her face just from the yellow fabric. It is a happy colour after all. And it was warm too, and soft and was quite comfortable.

But then came the new problem: gifting it. 

She had never been a good gifter. Or speaker. Words never came naturally to her. So this new problem would have to be handled. Or... not. 

Bernadetta went class the next day, skittering in after Linhardt and Caspar. A satchel flapped on her hip, stuffed with the blanket instead of her usual notebooks. She hurried towards her regular seat at the back of the room and pulled out her notebooks and ink pen. She didn’t pay attention to the lesson, didn’t even doodle in the margin of her notes like she usually did. Instead, she focused on the back of Raphael’s head, watching for the droop of his head into sleep. 

Every time he began to nod off, she resisted the urge to bolt across the classroom and throw the blanket on him. Instead, she glued herself to the bench, the toes of her shoes tapping quickly against the stone floor. By midmorning, when the bell from the monastery clock tolled ten times, the professor closed their book and called for a morning tea break. Almost every student rose from their desks, a few stretching out before shuffling out of the classroom and into the courtyard for small talk and a snack.

Normally, Bernie would usually excuse herself to the corner to draw or beg Dorothea to bring her back a piece of cake or some sweet treat from the mess hall. But today, she held herself to the bench and pointed to her textbooks when Dorothea and Petra waved for her to join them. The pair walked off, murmuring that maybe she wasn’t feeling well or was behind on school work. Bernadetta clutched the strap of her satchel watching as one by one, the class cleared.

When all but she and Raphael remained, Bernadetta forced herself up from the bench and clicked open the latch on her satchel. Then, carefully, she crossed the room over to him. She made sure he was asleep before reaching into her satchel on her shoulder and pulling out the neatly folded blanket. With a quick flick, she fanned it out before resting it over his shoulders. The blanket barely met the floor, but covered Raphael’s head and spanned his broad shoulders. 

It was almost a perfect fit. For a second, she marvelled at her handiwork. The white trim looked cozy, and the golden rod fabric sported fine stitches up and down the material in a grid pattern. And in the four corners were her carefully-embroidered rudbeckias, each with a dark brown bud and shimmering gold petals. Surely, this would keep him warm for the rest of their time at the monastery. 

“Hmm?”

Bernadetta’s eyes widened. Lifting his head from the books before him, Raphael looked up her. A smile crossed his face. “Hey Bernadetta... Did they all go for break?”

Words evaded her. She nodded quickly. 

“Hmm, I’m a little hungry myself. Maybe I’ll grab something to...” he yawned, stretching out before realizing the blanket over his frame. “Whoa, what’s this?”

Anxiety washed over Bernadetta. Her limbs could not move. Her voice could not form any words. Not even her brow or lips could move. She stood frozen, like someone had accidentally hit her with a Blizzard spell. 

Finally she gained enough strength to look at the tips of her shoes. Her heartbeat thuds in her ears. “Blanket.”

“Oh, it  _ is _ a blanket!” Raphael smiled and looks at the design. His brow raises when he looks at the carefully stitched rudbeckias. “Who made it?”

She could barely get the words out. “I did.”

Raphael’s eyes widened. His brow furrowed as he took the edge of the blanket and rubbed it behind his large digits. “You made this?”

She shook her head quickly, anxiety settling in fully now. “It’s nothing really! I’m sure you hate it, I shouldn’t have—”

“No no, it’s great Bernadetta!” Raphael assured her with a shake of his head. He held her gaze and offered a soft smile. “I love it. It’s so warm. It must have taken you sometime to make.”

She turned her gaze to her feet, a great wave of washing over her as he spoke. “Thank you, Bernadetta.” He said. Slowly, she lifted her gaze to him. Raphael swung his legs around the bench and sat before her, almost at the same height as her. His face softened into a big smile as he wrapped it around himself. “It’s really cozy.”

“I... I noticed you shiver when you slept in class so...” She trailed off. 

“Really? That’s so thoughtful!”

She felt her cheeks burn red as he spoke. “It’s nothing!” Bernadetta insisted.

“Still. Thank you.” He wrapped the blanket about himself and pulled it closer. “Feels like I’m getting a hug from you!”

Bernadetta turned beet red. She cowered back a little, her hands trembling against the strap of her satchel. “I’ll cherish it forever.” He promised.

She felt her lips curve into a nervous smile. Then from the bottom of her stomach, a bit of laughter bubbled up and filled the classroom. “I’m just glad you like it.” She said. “You should have something that’s big on you for once.”

“I love it.” He assured her. His gaze flickered to the door, where the professor walked in. “Hey! Professor! Look at what Bernadetta made me!”

Anxiety once against took hold of Bernadetta. She began to slowly backtrack towards her seat, as Raphael began to list off all the things he loved about the blanket. More people entered the classroom, admiring Raphael’s new blanket and as class began once again, he looked over to Bernadetta, gave her a warm smile and a wave. The young countess felt her heart skip a beat, and then smiled softly to herself as she began to listen to the lesson at hand. 


	2. This Kiss

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After a miscommunication, Raphael thinks Bernadetta’s feelings have changed. Meanwhile, she looks for a satisfactory answer while avoiding the pros.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Path: golden deer/verdant wind  
> Recruited units: Shamir, Dorothea, Sylvain, Petra and Caspar
> 
> For Del, bc she gives me the finest raphadetta brain worms.  
> And Bernie is bi bc i said so.
> 
> I’m @aroraboringalis on twitter.

Raphael and Bernadetta are walking outside the monastery in the midmorning. It’s warm, sunny, and her lungs are finally adjusting to the fresh clear air. They walk hand-in-hand, which catches the attention of a lot of people. Bernadetta feels their side eyes and narrow gazes as Raphael gingerly holds her hand. Their conversation pulls her attention back to him; they talk about everything and nothing, which Raphael claims is apart of Bernadetta’s “training” to become a better conversation partner.

And as they walk around the outskirts of town, where the farmer’s fields reach out to forests beyond, Raphael turns the conversation of semi-awkward discussion on themselves that goes nowhere, to the future. “So what do you think you’re going to do after the war?” He asks.

Bernadetta shrugs. “I dunno.” She says. “Do you know what you want to do?”

“Not really.”

“Then why’d you ask?”

It’s Raphael’s turn to shrug. “Not sure. It’s the polite thing to do, but also, I keep hearing about our classmates—” He stops. “—fellow soldiers.” He corrects. “They’re making plans with each other to pack up and go off.”

“Really?”

Raphael nods. “When I was training with Caspar, he said he and Hilda were going off to travel the world after the war is done. And Leonie mentioned that she was gonna hang around Gloucester territory.”

Bernadetta flushes. All  _ lover’s _ unions. Even the professor stays pretty close to Shamir. Maybe they’ll end up together at the end of this war.

“I don’t know what I’ll do.” Bernadetta sighs. “I can’t go back to Varley territory as long as my father’s around. And Adrestia isn’t my home anymore.” 

A look of pity crosses Raphael’s face. “Oh.”

“Well how about you? What are you going to do after this war is through?” She asks.

“First thing, I’m going home to see my little sister, Maya. She’s probably gotten so big by now.” He says happily. Bernadetta feels her cheeks heat and thinks to herself that he’s such a good brother. “And then I’m going to see how the inn is going with my Grandpa and Nana. I’ll lend hand as long as they’ll have me.”

“And then what?” 

“Then what?” Raphael looks at her with a raised brow. The warm golden sunlight makes him look like an extension of the sun. “Hmm. I dunno. Maybe I’ll find noble house that needs a knight... Or some people who need some muscle.”

His face takes on a sad look, and Bernadetta can already read his thoughts: Maya. He’ll have to leave her behind, again. Bernadetta can only assume how horrible it must feel to leave behind such an important person, let alone a family member.

When she was carried off to Garreg Mach—no—before that. She and her brothers, both elder and younger, never particularly got along that much. Always too skittish, always too shy, and most often “doted upon” by their father, Bernadetta knew that they resented her. But she was aware that they didn’t know that the doting they thought was given to her was actually abuse. The only person who had liked her in a modicum was her mother, but even then she always felt estranged from her.

Her mother was entirely the woman obsessed with class and how others viewed her. She was a member of Adrestian high society, a frequenter of the Opera, often a royal guest at afternoon teas and a fashion icon herself. And Bernadetta, her shut-in, reclusive, shy daughter who would rarely leave the house to go to the Opera with her, and could barely hold her tea cup still to take a sip of her tea, just did not match up with her glamourous mother.

Still, Bernadetta knew that she cared deeply for her, even though they were so different. She wrote often, got Bernadetta anything she liked, and had gotten her to the Officer’s Academy before her father could marry her off to a lord twice her age. Even when the war had broken out and her father had been placed on house arrest by Emperor Edelgard—which, Bernadetta praised Edelgard and danced about her room when the news broke out—Countess Varley made sure that Bernadetta had a safe house with the Gloucesters for the time being. And for all the shortcomings her mother had, Bernadetta was thankful that she cared for her. 

So hearing about Raphael’s devotion to his younger sister, his only family left, Bernadetta felt a pang of sadness.

“What was your mother like?” She found herself asking. The moment the words left her mouth, she winced.

“She was pretty. And kind.” Raphael says softly. “She made the best stews and was always really nice to our neighbours. When there wasn’t enough, she’d make sure some of our food went to our neighbours. She always said that sharing a meal was showing that you really cared.”

He glances to her and offers a warm smile. “She also had a great eye for things. My Pa always said that they met at an auction, and were betting on the same items. And when my Pa won, Ma said, ‘you’ve got wonderful taste’, and my Pa asked her out right there!” He says. “They opened a business a few weeks later together, and married after.”

“That’s so sweet.” Bernadetta says. Her parents’ union was arranged. Her Mother, a von Varley, her Father an outsider and desperate to stay relevant in society.

“How about your Mom?” Raphael says. “What’s she like?”

The archer looked down at her shoes. “Well... She’s very fashionable, and cares about me a lot.” She says, regretting that her feelings towards her Mother were not as deep. 

“Do you miss her?”

Bernadetta nods. Suddenly, talking about her mother and her family feels like too much, the looming sense of panic settling in. Instead, Bernadetta changes the conversation. “So Lorenz is keeping Leonie nearby after the war?”

Raphael’s face brightens. “Yeah... I find it funny!” He starts rambling on and on about how polar opposites they both are, like night and day. She focuses on his words and repeats to herself that she’s in control and this too shall pass. When she comes to, Raphael is talking about how Claude and Petra seem poised to wind up together. “Do you ever think you’ll be like that?”

“L-Like what?” Bernadetta asks, eyes wide.

“With someone?” He asks. “I bet you have a lot of admirers Bernie! You’re pretty and kind and really smart. And you’re brave.”

Her heart thuds in her chest, banging against her rib cage. Suddenly, Raphael seems a lot closer to her. He tilts her head to meet hers. Her hand feels clammy and hot in his. 

“I’m actually surprised no one’s ever taken you out before. Or danced with you.” He mumbles. 

His lips are inches from hers. Raphael’s eyes flutter shut and Bernadetta’s mind begins a frenzy of thoughts, starting with  _ what is he doing _ to  _oh my goddess, is he going to KISS ME?_ to  _ I’m going to faint. Or die. Or both! _

Her mind runs through every book she’d ever read before, where the heroine is met with her love interest. She always read such passages through her fingers, her face hot with a blush. She swore Annette and Dorothea could hear her carrying on through the brick walls that divided their dorms back in their academy days. 

Raphael’s grasp on her hand isn’t that strong; he’s always been careful with such things around her. And while Bernadetta stands stock-still like a scared animal, her knees knocking together, she gathers the bravado to say something.

“I think I left my... Pen... my ink well out I mean—I need to go!” She squeals loudly before wrenching her grip from his hand and running all the way back to the monastery. 

And poor Raphael is left scratching his head and wondering what he did wrong.

* * *

Bernadetta crashes through the doors of her room and slams the door shut behind her. Dramatically, she dives into her pillow and begins to cry, her face hot with a flush. 

Her wailing attracts Dorothea to her door, who knocks and calls in twice, wondering what happened to Bernie. But when she doesn’t answer, Dorothea calls in.

“If you need someone to talk to Bern, I’ll be in my dorm.” She calls before leaving.

Bernadetta, red-faced, pulls herself from her tears and self-hateful thoughts of  _ you’re such an idiot Bernie! Raphael was going to  kiss  you! Don’t you want that? _ She holds her pillow in her lap, wet with her tears and pulls her knees to her chest, hiccuping little tears now.

In truth, she  _ did _ want that. She’d wanted that for a while now. A long time, actually. Raphael has always been nothing but kind and patient to her. He’d waited eons to finally be able to hold her hand and always asked if it was okay to before taking it. After she told him that loud noises scared her, he’d stopped using his booming voice. And when she said that he stood too close sometimes, he made sure to give her ample distance until she told him to come over and hold her hand.

But the question began to loom over her. Did she want Raphael to kiss her? She loved being around him; his sweet laughter made her smile, and he was always quite kind to her and sensitive to her needs. And yes, a few times, she’d run away with the thought of what a date for them would look like... Which made for very awkward war council meetings where the professor would call on her, Ignatz and Leonie for archer’s perspectives on a battle plan.

Yes, part of her wanted Raphael to kiss her. Badly, actually. In fact, her latest novel involved the addition of a bulky, blonde warrior with a heart of gold to her heroine’s team of allies. (Which reminded her that she needed to get a new chapter to Sylvain and soon for editing.)

But here came the hard part: she’d never kissed. Not once, which isn’t a big surprise considering she’d spent her so-called wild, partying, teenage years holed up in her room writing about knights and mages and sewing crafts. Which isn’t to say it was wasted time—Bernadetta wouldn’t trade those years of blissful solitude for anything—it just did not prepare her for the future that well.

She plays with the edge of her pillow case, fingering the moth bitten edges as she thinks what her heroines would do. 

Maera, the scandalous mage, would waltz right back up to Raphael, grab him by the collar and plant one on his lips and then walk away without a word.

Daphne, the pious cleric, would apologize for her behaviour, ask his permission to show her affections, and then gingerly kiss his cheek.

And Briar, the rough-hewn paladin, would say it wasn’t her fault, then mumble something about him being “soft on the ol’ eyes” before awkwardly bumping his shoulder and running off. 

But Bernadetta isn’t any of her heroines. She’s not a powerful mage or a devoted cleric or a rough-and-tumble paladin. She’s knock-kneed, awkward, furrow-browed Bernie, who has no idea how to kiss the guy she’s got it bad for.

She throws her legs over the side of her bed, her feet meeting the cold hardwood. Quickly she goes through the list of army mates that she could ask about kissing. Such a thought makes her red with embarrassment, but she goes to her desk, pulls out a fresh piece of parchment and inks her pen. Making a table, she writes the name of her fellow soldiers, then the pros and cons.

At the top of the list is Dorothea. She’s so pretty and well-endowed and talented in the precarious of arts of romance; there’s no doubt that she doesn’t have a multitude of answers and tips on kissing. But, there’s no way that Bernie can ask “ _ hey, how should I kiss this massive guy I like a lot? _ ” without getting grilled like a Teutates Loach.

She crosses off Dorothea’s name.

Next is Petra, who is sensible and calculated in all ways. Momentarily, Bernadetta hesitates, wondering if kissing isn’t a universal form of affection. But Petra is smart and calm and collected. And she probably wouldn’t ask much for reasoning.

Leonie comes after. She’s sensible too, but Bernadetta can already feel flustered and blushing if she’d ask Leonie—who she admits, she had a minor crush on at one point in time—how to kiss a guy. Yet, Leonie is smart and would never,  ever tease Bernadetta on such a thing.

Then is Hilda... Which Bernadetta immediately crosses off the list after hearing how she and Caspar were caught making out in the training grounds by Lorenz. Plus, she’s relatively certain that Hilda would make a bonfire and grill poor Bernie for answers... Then tell everyone.

Lysithea and Marianne follow in pursuit. Lysithea would call her a fool for such frivolous emotions and probably send Bernie away crying, while Marianne would look confused and probably blush as much as herself. She crosses the two off her list.

And finally, Flayn. Who is too young to know what kissing is. She probably thinks holding hands is a form of true love. Bernadetta runs the ink over her name. 

But the professors remain, which makes Bernadetta cringe horribly at the thought of walking up to Shamir and asking how to kiss. Shamir would probably tell her to back them against the wall, then pull out a dagger and kiss them.

But the professor herself... _Hmm... Maybe professor Byleth could help?_ She thinks The professor knew more about anything than most people at Garreg Mach. And maybe she would have a new perspective or approach that Bernadetta had never considered. 

* * *

Bernadetta runs off to the cathedral and writes a note on a scrap piece of paper. She pulls up her hood to hide her face, embarrassed even though no one has read her letter yet. She sits in one of the pews closest to the east of the cathedral so she has a vantage point to see the everything. To bide the time, Bernadetta hums softly to herself before she sees professor Byleth and Seteth approach the box. Bernadetta focuses as best she can, but only hears a mumbled exchange of words and then a heavy sigh. She stares at her boots, tapping her foot wildly. She hears scratching against paper—writing—and then the flap of the advice box closing. 

Bernadetta pretends to be praying, when in fact she’s humming along to an old lullaby her nursemaid sang to her often, and waits until the two walk off. Once they go back to the statue room, Bernadetta springs up from her seat and hurries over to the advice box, finding her scrap of paper, which has been responded to.

She opens it up and looks at her scrawl that says,  _ How do you approach a kiss? _ Below, in neat handwriting is the answer:

_ Cited in section forty-six, paragraph nine of the Officers’ Academy Student Handbook, kissing, amongst other physical contact between students AND soldiers, is FORBIDDEN. -Professor Seteth _

Bernadetta feels her heart drop into her stomach and her paper heart turn into pulp. 

* * *

Raphael doesn’t know what he did wrong. 

He did just as Claude had said to! Wait until they were alone, be sensitive to her body language and let her meet him halfway. 

But instead, Bernadetta had stammered something about lighting a craft of hers on fire—the words all jumbled together for Raphael—and left him kissing nothing. 

Again. 

So, the brawler thought that she didn’t want to meet him halfway. And then, as he was walking back to the monastery, first going to search her out, he thought of Claude. 

_What would he do?_ Raphael thought.  _ He’s always always got a plan for everything.  _

In his mind, Claude would waltz right up to her. No. The thought of Claude waltzing up to Bernie made Raphael’s heart ache, so he thought of Petra, who stuck around Claude often, and always looked at him with eyes of respect and adoration. Claude would waltz right up to Petra, give a wink, say something smooth and then work his way into her neck, planting a kiss below her jawline. 

Raphael played out the scenario in his head. Waltzing—or at least trying to—up to frightened little Bernie, and giving her a too-obvious wink while saying something about her being as cute as button before leaning into her neck. Which, would probably make him strain a muscle, considering there’s almost a foot between their heights. And then the thought of Bernie squealing and running away, squealing a white-lie like  _ I forgot about to feed my plushes!  _ or  _ I didn’t sew my horse’s bridle! _ or the like, made his heart ache again. 

He thought about it. Bernie always  seemed to like holding his hand, but now that he was thinking so hard, he remembered how her face was always red, how she stole so many quick, worried glances from him, and how her hands always grew the slightest bit sweaty through her leather gloves. Maybe she had been forcing herself? Maybe she had been too kind to say no to him, or worried that he’d lash out—which he would  _ never _ . And every time he’d asked where they were while in class after struggling to keep, her hand had slapped over the margin of her notes, probably to cover any foul words or mean drawings of him, for she stared at him intently during lectures. And when they’d been assigned to stable duties together, back before the war began, and his hand had grazed hers briefly, she’d pulled it back quickly because she was repulsed by him, not embarrassed. 

Raphael makes it back to the monastery and passes through main gates. The marketplace stalls greet him like a group of old friends. His eyes wander to a silk-seller that Bernie would most certainly want to visit if she were here, and then a baker with fresh mini cakes that he’d buy and insist on sharing with her. And through the stale air that’s thick with the smell of fire and oil from the blacksmith’s stall, it becomes clear, to even a dunderhead like him, that Bernadetta von Varley does  _ not _ love him back. 

* * *

“Petra! Petra let me in!” Bernadetta cries out, pummelling her fists against the old door. “Come on Petra!”

She bangs over and over again on Petra’s dorm room door, the admonishing response from Seteth still in her hand. “ _ Petraaaaaa! _ ” She whines long and loud. Her foot stamps down on the stone like a frustrated child. 

Petra would never leave her outside for this long. She’d always come quickly and let her in, but today Petra lets her bang away and doesn’t care a lick about—

“Bern?”

Bernadetta lets out a cry, whipping around to see Dorothea standing outside her dorm. Her pretty brow knits as she takes the sight of Bernadetta—flyaway hair, sweat on her face from running, glassy eyes from threatening tears—and then speaks in a worried tone. “What’s wrong Bern?”

“Nothing! Nothing!” The archer cries out loudly. She tries to coverup her nervousness with a laugh but it dies in her throat. Dorothea eyes her suspiciously. “W-What about you, I thought you were headed down to the greenhouse?”

“Not until later. I had some inspiration for a song.” The songstress says before peering a little closer. “Why are you looking for Petra?”

“Oh! Um...” Bernadetta scrambles for a reason. She looks down at the neatly trimmed gardens before the steps to the rooms. “I... Uh... I wanted to ask her about plant life in Brigid! Yeah!” 

Dorothea’s brow furrows. “What’s that in your hand...” She gasps and then smiles. “Is it a love note?”

Bernadetta turns beet-red. “No!” She shrieks. “J-Just... Just a list of plants I want to draw!” She forces another laugh that sounds too mechanical.

The songstress does not look convinced. She shrugs and crosses her arms. “Well, last I saw, Petra was by the stables with Leonie.” She says. 

“Oh, okay, thanks Dorothea!” Bernadetta says before turning quickly on her heel and walking away. The moment she’s out of sight, she runs through the gardens, takes a shortcut through the mess hall and goes down by the pond. She thinks about Petra.  _She’ll know what to do! And if not, Leonie will!_ Bernadetta thinks wildly to herself.  _ Yes! They’re both sensible people. _

But as she’s about pass by the gatekeeper—who always greets everyone when they pass by—she sees a big, hulking man enter the marketplace. 

Raphael.

She freezes like a deer in the eyes of a hunter. A tiny squeak escapes her lips as he briefly meets her gaze. He looks miserable, his lips turned into a heavy frown, his brow low and his eyes welled with sadness. And all the while, Bernadetta can’t help but think that it’s her fault he’s so sad.

She sees his lips move, but cannot hear the words escape his lips against the din of the marketplace. For a second, the look of sadness fades from his face, and he forces a smile. 

Bernadetta turns and runs as fast as she can to the stables. And Raphael follows her.

Huffing out breaths, she finds Petra and Leonie in a stall, caring for a horse together. Bernadetta runs in and cowers inside with the horse, covering her face with her hands.

“Bernadetta? What has happened?” Petra begins to ask.

“Hey, why’s Raphael comin’ over here?” Leonie asks, a hand on her hip.

She grabs the sash at Petra’s side and the knotted cloak that hangs around Leonie’s hips. “You both didn’t see me!” She tells them. 

The two share a glance and collectively shrug. Petra grabs a scratchy wool blanket that smells distinctly like horses and throws it over Bernadetta, hiding her. Cowering underneath the blanket, Bernadetta can hear everything.

“Hey Leonie, hi Petra.” Raphael’s voice sounds so beaten down. And sad. “Have you guys seen Berni—Bernadetta? I saw her run past and she looked... uh, scared.”

“Hmm nope. I have not been seeing her.” Petra says.

“Neither have I, Raph. Maybe she went to the cathedral, I think she was over there earlier?” 

Bernadetta’s heartbeat pounds in her ears. She shakes and trembles against herself and hears heavy footsteps begin to trod away. “Okay, thanks guys. I’ll check there.” He says.

Suddenly, the blanket comes off her, and Bernadetta opens one of her shut-tight eyes. She winces as Petra squats down beside her. “What is causing you such sadness Bernie? And Raphael too?”

“Yeah, I’ve never seen him look so sad.” Leonie murmurs.

Bernadetta feels the hot rush of tears come over her. Then a hiccup, and soon enough she lets out a wail that frightens the horse. She falls into Petra’s arms, who awkwardly pats her shoulder, while Leonie calms the horse.

The archer tries to spit out the story, but it comes across in mumbled words and sobs. After a few moments, Bernadetta collects herself and spills everything.

“So Raphael went to kiss you,” Leonie starts.

“And you were turning away?” Petra asks.

Bernadetta nods, her eyes clouded by tears. “Only because you didn’t know how to kiss?” They said in unison, causing Bernadetta to wail again.

“And now I hurt him! And I don’t know how to make it better!” She cries out. 

“Have you talked to Dorothea?” Leonie asks.

“Yes, she is the expert on relationships.”

“I can’t! It’s too embarrassing!” She says, fiddling with the blanket that hangs around her shoulders. “I made a list and I thought you two would know best!”

“Me?” Leonie says.

“I too?”

“Yeah! You guys are so smart and sensible and pretty!” Bernadetta cries out. She points at Petra. “Claude speaks of you like you’re the sun and stars!” She turns her gaze to Leonie. “And Lorenz looks at you with such tender eyes!”

Leonie rocks on her heels and rubs the back of her neck. “Well, I do have a big bet going with him... He’s probably shooting daggers at me, not goo-goo eyes.” She says to herself.

“The point is, you both have experience and class! I don’t!” She cries out before burying her face in her knees.

Petra and Leonie exchange glances. The princes reaches out and touches Bernadetta’s shoulder. She reaches into a side belt, and pulls out a small dagger. “Bernie, look.” She says.

Bernadetta almost jumps at the sight of the knife. Petra unsheathes it, then holds it out to her. The blade is made of gleaming stainless steel, and the handle looks incredibly ornate and beautiful with hues of orange and red leather. “Read the blade.” 

Bernadetta hesitates to take the dagger; Petra holds it out so she can see it. “To Petra, my sun and moon.” She murmurs to herself. Her eyes widen a little as she looks up to the princess. Petra begins to wrap up the dagger and tucks it back away.

“The point is being that love can come in different ways. Claude and I are sharing our love through gifts.” She says softly. “Raphael wanted to show his love through touch, which was not comfortable for you.”

“Boundaries are boundaries.” Leonie butts in. “And if someone doesn’t respect them that’s one thing. Did you tell Raphael that you weren’t ready for that step?”

“N-No...” Bernadetta murmurs before meeting Leonie’s gaze. “I was ready for that step I just... Didn’t know to respond. I was embarrassed.” She lets out a frustrated sigh. “I know nothing about romance!”

Leonie and Petra look between each other. “Well, I know someone who is a connoisseur in romance,” Leonie says before holding her hand out to Bernadetta. “C’mon, let’s go see Ignatz.”

* * *

Turns out, Ignatz knows nothing about romance, let alone kissing.

In fact, he’s painting Flayn’s portrait when Leonie and Bernadetta burst into the Golden Deer classroom. Leonie handles all the talking, while Bernadetta sniffles and stares at her shoes. From her peripheral, she can see Flayn glance up, with a curious look in her eyes. 

“Hey Ignatz, you’re a romantic guy—” Leonie says, not sparing a second. She hurries over to the painter and rests an arm on his shoulder.

Ignatz doesn’t break his gaze from his canvas. He remains completely focused on Flayn and her delicate look and pose. To Bernadetta, she looks almost saintly, though she’d never say such a thing aloud, especially to someone connected to the church. That might be heresy. 

He begins to ponder. “Well, do you mean Romantic as in the movement, or romantic as in—”

“The latter.” She says.

Ignatz turns red. Bernadetta winces in sympathy. “Uh... very little?” He says.

“Oh c’mon! How many paintings have you been commissioned by noble couples? You’ve probably made  _ bank  _ on posing romantic scenes and the like!” Leonie presses. “How many paintings have you done with a kissing couple?!”  
Ignatz scrambles for words while Bernadetta wishes she’d never left her room this morning. Even Flayn’s focus is broken. She tuns a little, eyes suddenly wide and very interested. “Kissing?” Flayn asks with a raised brow.

“Don’t move, Flayn.” Ignatz orders her. He looks to Leonie, and realizes that Bernadetta is with her. “I know nothing about kissing, okay Leonie?”

“Kissing? What are we talking about kissing for?” 

Bernadetta glances behind herself to see Lorenz entering the classroom. She immediately wants to curl up into a ball and cry. He struts past and joins the rest of the Deer with an intrigued countenance. 

“Personal stuff Lorenz, butt out for a sec.” Leonie says. 

“Oh, but I am a master in the arts of romance! Just as any well-to-do noble should be.” He says before bowing in greeting to everyone. “What ails you, sweet Leonie?”

Suddenly, Leonie and Lorenz are bickering back and forth about who’s been kissed. Ignatz goes back to his painting, Flayn looks incredibly amused and Bernadetta wishes they would get a room and make out already. She begins to reach her boiling point as the voices in the room grow louder—Ignatz telling Flayn to stop smirking, Leonie saying that Lorenz is a virgin, Lorenz looking  _ incredibly _ bashful and embarrassed.

“Oh that’s it! Never mind!” Bernadetta cries out. The room suddenly falls silent and all eyes are on her. “I’ll just die an unmarried spinster and get eaten by dogs!” 

Quickly, Bernadetta runs out of the room, fighting tears once more. She barely gets halfway across the courtyard when the Deer classroom clear out and call after her to come back.

* * *

Raphael checks almost everywhere in the monastery for Bernadetta. He desperately wants to make it up to her, to give her the apology she deserves. While he’s looking for her, he thinks of what he will say.

He has the basics: that he was sorry for pushing her too far, that he should have been more sensitive to her feelings all this time, and that he wants to be in her life as much as she’ll allow him to be. And that being a friend to her, would more than enough.

He’s almost ready to give up. He begins down to the dormitory halls, and poises at her door. But he can’t show up without something for her to forgive him with—his mother always said that you shouldn’t drop by without something to share. Raphael heads to the greenhouse, finds some rudbeckias that he planted a while ago and plucks one. It’s not much, but he hopes she’ll like it.

He leaves the greenhouse and begins back to her dorm room. He sees Dorothea and begins to wave to her. She smiles and looks worried but turns back to stare ahead. And as he’s walking he hears a familiar voice. 

“ _Bernadetta? Hey! Where are you going in such a hurry?_ ” 

“Bernie?” He whispers to himself. He looks up to where the mess hall exits. And then, up above, he sees Sylvain and Bernadetta, both very close to each other. And though it’s too far away, Raphael can tell that Bernadetta is blushing bright red.

And his heart crashes into his stomach. 

* * *

Bernadetta runs off, back towards her dorm room and into the mess hall, flying past people and soldiers and civilians alike.

“Bernadetta? Hey! Where are you going in such a hurry?” 

The archer glances over her shoulder and sees Sylvain in the line up to get a meal. She feels wet tracks roll down her cheeks. 

“Hey, are you alright?” He calls again. 

Suddenly, Bernadetta realizes who’s talking to her. Sylvain Gautier, the ladies man of Garreg Mach. The same Sylvain who would come into class late with hickeys on his neck and lipstick on his collar. The exact Sylvain who would be seen every night with some girl. The Sylvain who was most certainly a  _ master _ in romance. 

This is her last shot if she’s ever to show Raphael how she really feels.

She wipes her tears and Sylvain steps out of line. “Hey, hey, it’s okay.” He says softly. They step outside. Her face burns red. “What’s wrong, Bernadetta?”

She swallows her tears and pride, and summons what’s left of her fragile dignity. “What do you know about kissing?” She says in a wavering voice.

Sylvain’s brow raises, and his concern fades into flirting. “Why? Need a lesson from the master for your newest novel?” He asks, slipping beside her, and resting his hand against the brick of the building. Bernadetta backs into the wall and flushes hard. His gaze flickers from her eyes to down to her lips. “Or do you need to get rid of a little... writer’s block?” 

“Sylvain, what are you doing to poor Bern?”

The cavalier rolls his eyes as Bernadetta buries her face in her hands. Dorothea steps between the two of them, pulling Sylvain away by his ear. 

“Ow ow ow _ow!_ ” He cries out. “Jeez Thea, can you be a more gentle?”

“You’ve frightened poor Bern!” She admonishes.

Bernadetta wants to curl up and die. Or take a running start and cannonball into the pond. Or both. 

“Go away now, Let me talk to her. I swear, one of these days your mouth is going to get you into a lot of trouble...” Dorothea says. Her jade eyes flicker to Bernadetta and soften as Sylvain skitters off. “Oh Bern, what happened?”

And for the umpteenth time today, Bernadetta cries and spills it all.

* * *

Raphael sits by Bernadetta’s dorm and plucks the petals one by one from the rudbeckia.

_ She loves me. _ He thinks, flicking away the petal. 

Bernadetta may very well love him. She’s always happy to see him and very kind.

_ She loves me not.  _ He thinks.

But that could just be her being nice. 

He plucks the petals away one by one, his gaze narrowed on them. Sulking usually isn’t his style. Whenever he’s sad, he’ll usually train. Exercise means endorphins and endorphins mean happiness, even if it is temporary. And besides, after a long run or a few ab-crunches, he’s usually a little bit better. 

But the ache in his chest makes it almost impossible for him to push himself up and walk to the training grounds. And his stomach doesn’t pang with hunger, even though its the late afternoon now and he’s only had breakfast today.

Another two petals.  _ She loves me. She loves me not. _

He thinks about Sylvain. He’s never had any reason to dislike him, but by Seiros, he sure is jealous of him now. He has pretty, kind, sweet and talented Bernadetta, and what does Raphael have? A rudbeckia with one petal left. Sixteen have come and gone, collecting on his boots before him, like bits of fallen sunshine. 

“She loves me not.” He breathes. And he feels another pang of sadness as he thinks of Sylvain smoothly saying that Bernadetta’s eyes are like silver clouds, before tilting her chin upwards and kissing her passionately.

“Soooo, how about you and me run off somewhere private, Thea?”

Raphael’s brow furrows. He glances up and sees Sylvain at nearby dorm room door. “What do you say? Early dinner, then down to the tavern for a dance?”

“Sylvain, I have things to do.” 

Raphael recognizes Dorothea stepping out of her dorm. There’s a soft smile on her face as Sylvain climbs the steps and meets Dorothea halfway for a kiss. 

And then, Raphael feels his stomach flood with rage. 

* * *

“Oh Bern, you poor thing.”

Bernadetta is finishing sobbing her sorrows into Dorothea’s chest. She broke out some bittersweet dark chocolate—a gift from Sylvain surely—and made some tea and listen patiently while Bernadetta let out the sob story of her horrible day.

“So... correct me if I’m wrong.” Dorothea says before sipping her tea.

Bernadetta nibbles at a large chunk of chocolate. It must be from Sreng, for she’s never tasted something so divine. She’ll have to ask Sylvain for the seller’s information next time she sees him.

“Raphael went to kiss you, you moved away because you didn’t know how to kiss, ran back to the monastery, cried your heart out, then went looking for Petra, ran into Raphael again, hid from him in a stable, found Petra and Leonie, cried, again, then went looking for Ignatz, got harassed by Lorenz, then ran into Sylvain and then I stepped in?”

“Yes.” Bernadetta whimpered.

“Bern, why didn’t you just ask me in the first place?” Dorothea says with a hint of sadness in her voice. “Did you not trust me?”

“No! No, I’m sorry I should have!” Bernadetta sniffles. She shakes her head and looks into her lap. “I just... I knew I wouldn’t be able to ask it without having to explain myself... and it’s just...” She sniffled again. “ _ Soooooo _ embarrassing!”

“Oh Bern...” Dorothea reaches forwards and rubs her back. “I’m sorry that I made you feel like you couldn’t come to me.”

“No... No it’s my fault,” Bernadetta cries out before wailing. Dorothea hands her a delicate handkerchief and she blows her nose into it. “I should have trusted you!”

Dorothea sighs. “Well, we’re here now. Do you want to talk about it?”

“No... Raphael will never forgive me.” She sniffles. Her hands fall into her lap. “Dorothea, the way he looked at me... He’ll never forgive me...”

“Oh hush!” The songstress coos. She picks up her handkerchief and wipes at Bernadetta’s teary eyes. “Raphael is not the kind of guy who holds grudges.”

“He won’t though—”

“Bernadetta.” Dorothea turns her face to hers. “He lights up when you’re around! He loves to be with you. I’m certain if you tell him everything, he’ll understand.”

The archer sniffled. “You’re sure?”

“I’m certain as the sun will rise.” She smiles. She pats Bernadetta’s knee. “Now, do you want my advice on how to approach a kiss?”

Bernadetta hesitates. But curiosity gets the best of her. She nods. “Yes.” She replies in a small voice.

Dorothea gives her a soft smile. “You just need a bit of courage.” She says. 

“That’s all?”

“Yes!” Dorothea says. “It’s simpler than you think!”

“A little bit of courage...” Bernadetta mutters to herself. There’s a knock at the door and Dorothea gives Bernadetta another pat on her knee before getting up and opening it. 

Bernadetta thinks on it. A bit of courage. She had none. Most of the time she hid away in her dorm room. Others would have to drag her to war council meetings and even speaking to the professor took all her power. 

But... Raphael makes her feel strong. 

“Soooo, how about you and me run off somewhere private, Thea?”

Bernadetta looks up and sees Sylvain in the doorway. He winks at Bernadetta before turning his gaze back to Dorothea. “What do you say? Early dinner, then down to the tavern for a dance?”

“Sylvain, I have things to do.” Dorothea says. Bernadetta can hear the lingering desire in her voice to join him. She feels guilty now, for taking up so much of Dorothea’s time and wasting half the army’s  _ only _ free day. 

“Oh, come on Thea, let’s go.” He says, after they meet halfway for a quick kiss.

“Yeah, you guys should go.” Bernadetta says from the back of the room. The two look at her as she sits up a little taller.  _ Have a bit of courage, Bernie _ _._ She tells herself. “I think I’m going to my room for some rest and then get something to eat.” 

“Really?” Dorothea looks unconvinced. “You’re sure—”

All falls silent when Sylvain looks over his shoulder and his brow raises. 

“Raphael?” Sylvain says in surprise.

“ _ GAUTIER! _ ”

In a flash, Sylvain is snatched away by one large hand and thrown over a massive shoulder. Dorothea lets out a cry of shock as Bernadetta hurries to the door and sees Raphael carrying Sylvain away.

“What is he doing?!” Dorothea cries out.

“I don’t know!” Bernadetta replies, before hopping down the steps of the dorm floor.

Raphael is faster than Bernadetta had ever realized, even in battle. With Sylvain over his shoulder, he bolts towards the greenhouse. Other soldiers jump out of the way, and the mess hall, which is full of most of the officers’ academy alumni enjoying dinner, clears out to see Raphael holding Sylvain over the edge of the lake. By the time Berndetta and Dorothea even get close to the water, the confrontation is at it’s highest.

“Hey—Raph, come on don’t dunk me in! I’m in my armour!” Sylvain calls out, his hand grope for a piece of Raphael to hold onto. “C’mon man, it’ll rust!”

“Should’ve thought about that before you hurt Bernie!” He bellows.

“What?” Sylvain says with a furrowed brow.

“Don’t play stupid! Bernie is kind and sweet and you’re hurt her by flirting with another girl!” Raphael yells, shaking him. He glances over his shoulder to a wide-eyed Dorothea, not even registering that Bernadetta is there too. “I’m sure you’re very nice.”

“I wasn’t! She asked me for advice, I swear—”

”Don’t go blamin’ her!”  A severe look crosses Raphael’s face as he turns back to look at the cavalier. Sylvain’s hands clamber to hold onto Raphael’s large arm. In the blink of an eye, Sylvain drops into the pond, a thrashing mess in the shallow waters. “Don’t ever hurt her again!” He yells at Sylvain. “Next time, I won’t be as nice.”

Bernadetta only stares, wide-eyed at the mess she’s made. Dorothea flies over to help Sylvain out of the water. Her heartbeat thuds in her ears. Her face flushes bright red, threatening to burn her alive.  _ Bernie is kind and sweet.  _ His words beat around in her head. He thinks she’s kind and sweet, and he cares deeply for her.

“Bernadetta! Please control your future boyfriend for Sothis’s sake!” Sylvain sputters, as Dorothea fusses over him. “Or else I’m gonna quit as your editor!”

Raphael’s eyes meet hers. A sad look crosses his face as he glances back to Sylvain. He offers a sad smile. “I...” He begins to say. “I didn’t like the thought of someone hurting you.” 

Her heart thunders in her chest. She takes a step closer to him.

“I just want you to be happy Bernie— _ Bernadetta _ . Even if I’m only a friend to you.”

She takes another step. The distance between the two begins to close.

“And if that means you don’t want me in your life at all, I’m okay with that too!”

She stands before him. 

“Whoever your new boyfriend is... well, he’s a lucky guy.” 

Garnering all her courage, Bernadetta stands on the tips of her toes and reaches for Raphael’s face. Holding his face in her hands, she brings her lips to his, and kisses him deeply. As he begins to pull away, stammering confusion, Bernadetta pulls him back once more, her fingers knotting in his hair. Around them, she can hear Ignatz, Flayn, Lorenz and Leonie, Petra and Claude, and even Dorothea and Sylvain cheer her on loudly. 

With bated breath, Bernadetta pulls her lips from Raphael’s. The brawler looks confused, but a large blush runs from his cheeks to his ears and down his neck. The cheers surrounding them fall on their deaf ears. All Bernadetta can hear is her heart beat and the sighs from Raphael’s lips.

“Will you be my boyfriend, Raphael Kirsten?”

His expression turns from confusion to happiness, to joy and finally to delight. He lets out a howl of laughter and the loudest yes she’s ever heard before scooping Bernadetta up and kissing her again and again. She clutches onto his shoulder and for the first time today, cries happy tears.


	3. Strength

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bernadetta pulls a headstrong move just in time to save Raphael. But the consequences become hard to bear.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Path: black eagles/crimson flower  
> Recruited units: Bernadetta, Mercedes  
> Additional notes: canon-typical violence, mentions of medical treatments, mentions of death, war phase/CF. 
> 
> I'm @aroraboringalis on twitter.

“No strength left...”

Bernadetta hears the words escape his mouth. The gauntlets at Raphael’s sides drag across the forest floor, taking tracks alongside his footprints. With a monsterous roar, the beast begins another assault.

The professor and Edelgard aren’t doing anything to help him. Instead they continue to face the enemy; Edelgard preparing her axe, while the professor gives orders for Petra to attack from behind. The words lodge in Bernadetta’s throat: _Professor! He’s going to get really hurt!”_

But they don’t come out. Instead they swell in her throat, making it hard to swallow. Her heartbeat pounds in her ears; she doesn’t event register that the professor has begun to speak to her.

“Bernadetta! Take out one of those fliers from the back!” The professor orders. She looks skyward, and sees three knights, astride on wyverns, approach quickly. It’s the opposite way to Raphael, who grits his teeth and prepares for the worst.

“Go Bernadetta!” Yells the professor.

She does not move from her spot. Her bow hand slithers down the side of her steed and into her packs. Beneath the leather can feel the radiating energy of a concoction, one that Linhardt had given her, after tiring of healing her silly injuries.

Edelgard’s voice rings out from nearby. “Bernadetta, I order you—“ It’s lost in the sea of her thoughts. _He’ll die. His sister will be all alone. And Ignatz will be too._ She thinks, her mind muddy with guilt and screaming with worry. _Do something Bernie, do something!_

“Bernadetta von Varley, do something!” Edelgard yells.

She struggles for a breath before flicking the reins of her horse, commanding it to run off towards Raphael. Every sense in her body tells her to go the opposite way, that the massive wolf-like monster will make a meal of her before she can get to him; but Bernadetta flicks the reins again, making her steed go as fast as it can through the wastelands.

Wordlessly, she dismounts and reaches into her satchel, ripping the leather with force. Garnering all her strength, she runs towards Raphael and stands in front of him, her shield poised.

“Bernadetta?” He says. “I thought I heard the professor--"

“Shut up.” She tells him quickly. A look of astonishment crosses Raphael’s face as she grabs his hand, practically cutting herself on his gauntlet. She thrusts the concoction into his hand. “Take this, I’ll do what I can.”

“Bernie?”

“Just drink it!” She shrieks. Raphael holds her gaze and nods. More words catch in her throat: you mean too much to me, you’re more important than you realize, be more careful, I’m worried about you. Bernadetta opens her mouth to say a mixture of them all to Raphael, but her words cut short. Instead she hears a dozen cries telling her to move and look out.

All she can focus on is the change from astonishment and thankfulness on Raphael’s face, to a look of horror. His hand reaches out for her, just inches short of her own.

And then, the world falls black.

* * *

The first thing Bernadetta feels is pain. Searing, white-hot pain from the tip of her nose to her feet. She’s sure she lets out a cry, but she cannot hear it; instead her head thuds and thunders with the sound of her heartbeat, going a mile a minute.

The second thing Bernadetta feels is then tingling. A fuzzy, prickly sort of tingle that starts at her scalp and sends a shiver down her spine and to her bloodied fingertips. She’s certain she winces at the uncomfortable, cold feeling, but she doesn’t hear it.

The third thing Bernadetta feels is something placed over her. Something warm and thick. Without opening her eyes, she knows it’s a blanket, and from the feel on her exposed limbs, it’s a scratchy old one made from lamb’s wool and eaten by moths. She’s confident she cringes and mumbles at the old material on her body, but doesn’t hear it. Instead she hears dulled tones and mumbling whispers.

“She’s a fool.”

“She disobeyed her majesty and the professor. There should be swift punishment for such mutiny.” Hubert.

“It was not a mutiny Hubert. Do not speak so brashly.” Edelgard.

“I’m certain there was some valid reason for her disobedience towards me.” The professor.

“Professor, I do not know what was going through Bernadetta’s head, but we must find out. She usually is quite obedient. She’d never get anywhere near the frontlines without just cause.”

“We shall do an investigation into her decision.” Hubert’s voice presses.

“Indeed. For now, let her rest.” Edelgard instructs. “There will be time to ask her questions once she’s healed.”

Three sets of feet leave the room quickly. And before she knows it, she’s alone. There’s a smell of antiseptics and medicine faintly in the air. She must be in the infirmary. She doesn’t yet have the strength to open her eyes, and instead relies on the feelings around her. The scratchy wool blanket. The stale of old air, mixed with healing herbs. The cool chill and lingering chill of white magic around her.

Slowly, she cracks one eye open, then another. The shape of her room comes into focus. The familiar shelves lined with old books she had to leave behind. Dusty plush crafts and books she had made herself. And a bouquet of dying tulips she had gotten from the hothouse earlier in the week. It rests on the far shelf, by the window, the velvet petals collecting around the crystal vase.

They brought her to her room. How thoughtful.

And then the realization Edelgard, Hubert and the Professor had seen the mess state of her dorm settled in. Bernadetta winces and pushes her head back into her pillow with a sigh.

She tries to roll over and rest on her side, but cries out when she does. She looks down and realizes there’s a large wound on her shoulder, stretching down to the elbow. It’s wrapped up in gauze and smells particularly herb-like. She lifts her blanket, which is almost a Herculean effort and pulls up her shirt, only to feel the tingles of white magic across her stomach.

Whatever had happened had been bad. Whoever had been healing her was only able to used white magic for one injury, the others—which she now realizes her ankle is wrapped up in a tenser bandage and there’s a bandage above her brow—had needed to be healed with first aid and medicinal herbs.

And it had been her fault.

A painful ache swallows her whole. But as she feels the guilt of inconveniencing Linhardt or Mercedes or Manuela—whoever it was—and Edelgard and Hubert for bringing her back to her room, she remembers what happened.

_Knock knock._

“Bernadetta? Are you awake?”

She forces herself up, eyes wide.

Raphael. The stupid, foolish, idiot thing she had done was to save Raphael. Indispensable, kind, sweet Raphael, who had a little sister waiting for him at the end of this horrible war. She, expendable, one of the many children of Count Varley, who wouldn’t be missed if she had succumbed to such a fate. In fact, she doubted that anyone would miss her.

“I guess not. Mercedes said you would be out for a while.”

Her heart catches in her throat. All her thoughts, pains and aches suddenly disperse.

“I just wanted to come by and thank you for what you did. Linhardt had said it was better you than me.” He says before wincing and murmuring under his breath that it was the wrong thing to say. “He meant that since you’re so much smaller than me, the injuries would be less strain to heal. But if it had’ve been me, well...”

Relief floods Bernadetta. She swallows hard and forces herself over the side of her bed. Her feet meet the cold floor, her stockings, garters and shoes done away with. She stares at the door. In the distance, she hears thunder rumble and the faint patters of rain.

“I guess I’m just interrupting your rest. You probably can’t hear me but... I’ll wait here until you wake up.”

Her heart skips a beat. Her legs wobble as she forces herself up, still weakened from the fight and uneasy from the magic. She reaches out for furniture to grasp onto, working from the headboard of her bed, to the edge of desk to the empty wall where her coatrack had once been full with cloak and garments.

“I just... You mean a lot to me Bernadetta. Petra was the one to get you back here so quickly, but I almost yelled at Edelgard and the professor to let me run you back.” He gives a soft chuckle. “Silly thing huh? You would’ve died in my arms long before I got ya back here."

The words lodge in her throat. Her eyes grow glassy and wide. She rests her hand on the door, her body leaning for support against it, while pain rips through her body. She feels her bandages wet with blood.

He’s just beyond the door. She can feel the heat of his presence on the other side, waiting for her.

“I guess. Well... You mean a lot to me Bernadetta. A whole lot.” He says, his voice growing a little weaker. “And I couldn’t live with myself if anything bad happened to you, because of me.”

“M...Me.. too...” She whispers. Her voice is hoarse and weak.

She hears him sigh on the other end. “I must be hearin’ things...” he laughs, a sad sound. “You’ve gotta be resting. The professor and Edelgard left a few minutes ago and told everyone to let you rest.”

She swallows hard, and it feels like she’s forcing nails down her throat. “Me... too...” she croaks.

“Hmm?”

Using all strength, Bernadetta grips the doorknob and turns it. The door cracks open, and Raphael’s frame takes up the entire doorway. His hair is damp with the rain and his boots are slick with mud. There’s blood on his uniform, mud and muck everywhere. He’s got scuff-marks and bruises from the battle, even a few scratches on his face. But his gold eyes are wide, his lips part in an astonished, silent gasp, whispering out her name ever so gently.

“Bernadetta?”

“I sa... said... me t-too.” She whispers, clutching onto the door.

“What?” He breathes.

“You’re... i-important to me too...” she breathes before a stab of pain goes up her arm. She winces and Raphael lunges to catch her. She melts into the dirty dampness of his clothes, and her body finding fleeting warmth in his hands. “And I couldn’t live with myself... if anything happened to you.”

Raphael’s eyes widen. “That doesn’t mean you should do something reckless. You could have been seriously hurt.”

“You said it yourself. It’s better that I was me.” She breathes. She feels stronger, resting in his arms, held in his embrace

“But Bernadetta—“

“No. You have Maya. And Ignatz—wherever he is—waiting for you. You have people who care about you. I don’t.” She says softly, strength slowly returning to her with the waves of hurt. “I left my House and title. Father will never see me again. I have no one—”

“No.” Raphael says sharply. His eyes look pleading as he shakes his head, the droplets of water flicking off his hair and onto her dress. “No. You have me.” He says firmly. “You’re too important to me.”

Bernadetta’s eyes go wide. She feels his grip—feather-light as to not hurt her any further—tighten around her limbs ever so slightly. _I’m important to him?_ She thinks.

“I don’t want you to do anything reckless because of me ever again. Promise me that you won’t.” He says, holding her gaze. “I want to see you after this war.”

Bernadetta curls her hands into loose fists and slowly nods her head. “I... P-Promise you... Raphael.” With all her strength, she forces herself to smile. Raphael beams, instilling her with a little more energy before he stands up, with her still in his arms.

“Come on, you need to rest.” He says, before carefully crossing the room. She wants to disagree with him, that she’s fine and he doesn’t need to worry, but collapsing into his arms isn’t exactly the most comforting thing.

Instead, she enjoys the warmth in his embrace and how careful he is with her. He peels back the blankets to her bed and tucks her in, before turning to go. She reaches out for his hand and catches it.

“Stay... with me...” She pleads with him.

Raphael’s face softens. He squeezes her hand gently. Then pulls the chair from her desk and sits down on it. Bernadetta musters the strongest smile she can before easing back into the scratchy blankets and falling asleep, with Raphael’s hand in hers.


	4. Will You/I Do

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bernadetta twists her ankle on while on a walk. On the way home, Raphael realizes what he really wants out of life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Path: unspecified/post war  
> Recruited units: Ignatz   
> Additional notes: fluff, injuries, marriage proposals, the future.
> 
> I'm @aroraboringalis on twitter.

“I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine Bernie, really.”

Bernadetta shifts from foot to foot and winces. “Try to stop moving,” he says as gently as he can. Bernadetta shifts again, another wince, another apology.

Part of Raphael feels guilty. He was the one who suggested an afternoon walk in the woods, but he didn’t know the trails that way—and he didn’t realize that Bernadetta didn’t know them much better. So when she tripped over a rock, face planted into the dirt and cried out, Raphael felt a rush of embarrassment and guilt. 

“Here, try to sit down.” He says softly. He holds out his hand to her, and she takes it. Her grip is tight in his hand, the other balling the fabric of his shirt in her fist. He helps lower her down onto a rock, little winces falling from her lips. She bites her lip, and for a second, Raphael sees her eyes well with tears.

Guilt comes harder and faster. He needs to do something for her. “Can I take a look?”

“Yeah,” she catches herself and nods. “I mean, yes, yes of course.” 

That part makes him smile a bit. Still trying to better herself. He remembers telling her during her training to always be firm with answers—after all, that’s what his father taught him, and so far, it hadn’t failed him. 

Raphael works off her boot as carefully as he can. He notices something then, that the heel on her boot is wobbly. The leather of her shoegives out, falling over and Raphael turns it upside down. The heel is broken, a cobbler will need to see to it.

Briefly, he thinks about repairing himself. Least he could do; he feels like it’s his fault she’s injured. He feels Berndetta’s gaze on him, and he tries to be as quick and as careful as he can be. His fingers graze over the bone, along the ridges and tendons until he feels flooding warmth from her ankle. Another wince falls from Bernadetta’s lips and Raphael immediately pulls his hands away.

He couldn’t bear to cause Bernie any pain. 

“I think you sprained it.” He says. “A healer would be able to patch it up quickly.”

“I think our healer is out on business...” Bernadetta says, and Raphael remembers them and the apothecary leaving to attend to a sick child in the west.

“We’d better get some compression going then.” He says. He’s got no bandage, save for the handkerchief at his side. It’s a little dirty, and he doesn’t want to stain her satin socks with it but it’s the best he’s got. “Deep breath in,” he tells her.

Bernadetta nods. Her chest puffs out dramatically as she breathes in deeply. Quickly, Raphael winds the cloth around her ankle and tucks it in. She sighs quickly, her eyes welling again.

“You okay?” He asks.

She nods at first. Then she whispers, “Yes.”

“We should get back to the manor.” He says. “But I don’t think you can walk on that.”

“To be honest, I really don’t want to either.” Bernadetta murmurs. She rubs a tear from her eye and then swallows the rest. 

“Would it be okay if I carried you?” he asks in his softest tone.

Bernadetta’s eyes grow as wide as saucers. He doesn’t suppose it’s an odd request—they are together after all. He’s done everything from hold her hand to kiss her and beyond that. Carrying her would be nothing odd. 

But, he doesn’t know what she’s been through. He’s never pushed her on the subjects of the past. And though Raphael isn’t the brightest guy, the one thing he understands best is body language.

She looks stiff for a second, her hands clenching up, legs drawing together, lips parting slightly. She looks wound up like a spool of thread. But after a moment, she softens. She nods at first and then finds her voice. 

“I would be fine with that.” She says.

The first time, he tries to give her a piggyback, but her ankle keeps hitting his rock-hard thigh and he can already envision how her face cringes. But after hearing a little gasp escape her lips and feeling her face bury in his shoulder, Raphael puts her down. 

“Put your arm around my neck,” he tells her.

Bernadetta’s brow furrows, but she does as he says. In one swift movement, Raphael runs his hand along her back, then another behind her knees and pulls her up to his chest. She bumps into his chest, her eyes wide and her face red as a rose. 

_ She looks cute.  _ He thinks quickly. But he returns to knight mode—well,  _ boyfriend-knight  _ mode. Which in itself is probably more powerful than either on its own. 

“Is this alright?” He asks.

“Yep.” Bernadetta says quickly. Her hand pulls tight to her chest for a second. 

“You sure?”

“Uh-huh.” 

Raphael takes a last look at Bernadetta, and softly thinks that she really does look cute. And she trusts him. Deeply. 

And at that moment, Raphael knows he wants to marry her. It’s like what those scholars and wisemen talk about--an epiphany, or realization. Like the stars have aligned and Sothis herself has whispered in his ear that matrimony is his next quest. Which, Raphael will take on gladly, heartily and with the most determination he’s ever had.

As they walk, mostly in silence, Raphael thinks about the ring he will make her. By hand of course—something from one’s own heart, own hands, outweighs an artisan’s creation. And Bernadetta is a crafter herself, surely she’d like something original, something from his own hands for once... aside from dinner. 

Maya could help. Ignatz too. They both have great eyes for design. And besides, should it come from him, it has to be perfect.

Because, after all, Bernadetta is perfect to him.

He could ask for his Mother’s wedding ring. His grandparents are sure to still have it. Would that be too much? Besides, Maya could want it when she gets married... And Bernie might overthink it, feel like she’s treading too far into his family.

Which, of course, is impossible. They are family. At least, Raphael thinks so.

“Raphael?”

He glances down. They’re almost back to the manor. “Yeah Bernadetta?”

“Do you ever think about the future?” She asks, her eyes focused on his chest. Had this been another time, he’d tell her to always look someone in the eyes, as much as she can. The hand around his neck is cold, her fingers barely touching his hair. 

“Sometimes.”

“Do you ever think... Um... That you’ll...” She begins to stutter and stumble about him leaving and going back to his family. “Because they love you.” She finally meets his eyes. He slows his pace. “And I’m sure they miss you lots. Ignatz too.”

“Are you worried about losing me?” He asks. Raphael stops walking.

Bernadetta’s eyes go wide again. The look of surprise and fear creeps off her face; slowly she nods, her hands knotting into fists. “Yes.” She admits. “Because if you wanted to go, I would let you go.”

Raphael holds her gaze as she turns back to look in her lap. “It’s been awhile since Maya’s been to the manor... And I’ve invited her but...”

“Bernie.” He says softly.

“She just... I don’t want her to think I’m stealing her brother away—"

“Bernadetta.” His voice raises a little.

“—No one should feel that way... And you two only have each other and I don’t want to tear you two apart.” She rambles. “So maybe we should just... say goodbye for a while.”

“Bernadetta von Varley, will you marry me?”

Bernadetta snaps out of her rambling. She looks at him with those comically wide eyes, her mouth slightly agape. “What?” She whispers.

“I know this isn’t the proper way to do it, but... neither of us are really proper, right?” He says. 

“But Maya—"

“Maya can come when she wants to. But I don’t ever want to say goodbye to you, Bernadetta.” He pleads. “I don’t have a ring yet, but I’ll make you one. I’ll get the metal and the stones myself, I’ll do whatever you want me to.” He begins to lower her to her feet, making sure she’s stable as she can be, and gets down on one knee. “I just want to be your family, I want to be your home. So will you marry me, Bernadetta?”

Raphael’s heart pounds in the same measure as if he’s just run for an hour. He holds her gaze, her hands in his. 

Bernadetta swallows, takes a deep breath and nods. He sees tears roll down her cheeks as she nods again and again and then meets his eyes. “Yes, I will marry you.” She says softly.

Raphael can’t hold in his joy. He lets out a raucous laugh before standing up and taking Bernadetta in his arms and twirling her around. After a moment of laughter and shared tears, he begins to take her back up in his arms and walk back to the manor.

“Wait.” She says, and then points out to a patch of scraggly violets. Though Varley is mostly wasteland, some flowers still grow. And in the past months, flora and fauna have flourished. 

“There.” She says.

“Do you want some flowers?” He asks.

Bernadetta nods. “Just one.” She says.

He sets her down and picks the nicest violet he can find. He holds it out to her and Bernadetta shakes her head. “First, make a little knot.” 

He tries his best to. After a moment, he has it. Then, Bernadetta holds out her hand and Raphael slips it onto her finger. She smiles at him. “For the mean time.” She says softly.

“You sure it’s okay?” Raphael asks.

“If it’s from you, it’s perfect.” She says.

Raphael grins wide and then brushes a stray strand of hair from her eyes. Gingerly, he tilts her chin up and lets his lips brush hers, while happily thinking of the future.


End file.
